Abigail Morgan loved her 12 y/o son, Abraham, dearly. But he needed to be taught a lesson. A lesson that will stay with him for the rest of his life.
Abe Morgan walked home from his elementary school with a couple of his close buddies, Mark Peterson and Eddie Bruce. They laughed with and teased each other as they stopped and admired some of the cooler cars. They imagined themselves in the driver's seat, someday...yeah. They naughtily fingered the coin returns in public payphones for loose and abandoned coins. Even got lucky a couple of times. As they neared his home, however, his good humor was once again replaced by recent feelings of anger. His buds knew that the condition of the outside of his home was a sensitive subject for him and they no longer commented on it. He was grateful for that. However, he couldn't say the same for the group of kids half a block ahead of them. He watched them with dread as they approached his house. He braced himself for the latest barrage of insults.
"Abe Morgan's family must be real religious. They live in a holey house. A hole-y house, get it?" (laughter)
"No, no, they must be real rich because they have air conditioning." (more laughter)
"Their house is invisible because - I can see right through it." (much more laughter)
A freckle-faced, redheaded boy turned completely around and walked backwards as he continued with the taunts and feigned innocent curiosity. "Hey, Abe, what happened? Did a tornado hit your house? I mean only a tornado could have caused damage like that on the outside of it." The boy, Tommy Fulbright, spread his arms and shook his head from side to side slowly as if begging for an explanation. Then he dropped his arms and his head at the same time when a mischievous grin forced its way back onto his face. He looked back up at Abe but he now managed a serious, concerned look and asked, "When's the wicked witch gonna crawl out from under there, huh?" The kids in Tommy's group were now doubled over with laughter. "I'll bet she'd be so grateful that she'd wave her magic wand and fix that ole dump of yours."
Abe could no longer contain his anger. He threw down his schoolbooks and bolted after Tommy and his friends. They, however, had half a block's head start on Abe and after another half block, he gave up the chase. Sour-faced and breathless, he walked back towards Mark and Eddie, who had picked up his books and followed him a bit of the way.
"Don't pay any attention to them, Abe." Mark said as he handed Abe's three textbooks back to him.
"Yeah, Tommy's just jealous because your folks work in a hospital while his dad makes license plates in Sing Sing." Eddie handed Abe's notebook and pencils back to him.
"I know. Thanks, guys. See ya." He managed a weak smile as the two boys patted him on the back and left to go to their own homes.
Abe stopped as he walked up to his front door. He pouted with squinted eyes as for the umpteenth time he took in the outside damage to their rented, wood frame house. 'Still not fixed. When's the dumb landlord gonna FIX it?!' He glared over at the landlord's undamaged brick house with its perfect little green lawn and his wife's goofy rose bushes all in a row. How he wanted to yank up those stupid roses. He wasn't sure how he would mess up their lawn with tire tracks but he was pretty sure he'd figure it out. 'Maybe just rip out patches with my bare hands.' He bristled as he thought back to the night of his close call two weeks earlier.
A loud crash like a small explosion had woke him up out of a sound sleep. He'd turned over onto his stomach in his bed and was temporarily blinded by - headlights! A car had crashed into the wall of their house and into his bedroom. It demolished his bed's wooden headboard. He remembered his parents' frantic voices as they ran to his bedroom. He still remembered the terrified looks on their faces and how they had gathered him up out of his bed and brought him into the living room. They made sure he was unharmed, then Dad had gone outside and assisted the car's errant driver, who turned out to be their own drunken landlord!
Abe had fumed the entire time Mom helped him clean the splinters and sawdust from his hair and face. As Dad re-entered the house, he paused at the open entryway and Abe heard a policeman's chilling assessment. "If the car had hit your son's bed on the side, the bedframe would have buckled and he would either have been severely injured or crushed to death. The car could have gone even further through the next wall into the next room. Thankfully, since the bed had been positioned with the head at the front wall, the wooden headboard absorbed the brunt of the impact. That's why it's all in splinters. Better it than your son's body." The policeman had thanked Dad for rendering aid to the driver. Abe had angrily hoped they'd throw the landlord under the jail.
Well, here it was a full two weeks later in the chilly - no - freezing month of November, and nothing's been done to repair the damage yet. Just a half-hearted patch job by the landlord's son with the empty promise of more complete repairs to be done soon. 'Yeah, and I'm President Eisenhower. Don't they care about their own property even if they don't give a hoot about their renters?'
Abe sighed and went into the house. He plopped his books on the dining room table. Dad wasn't home yet, but Mom was in the kitchen putting the final touches on what smelled like one of her most delicious dinners ever. "Hi, Mom, I'm home."
"Oh, good. Come into the kitchen for a minute, please." Her clipped British accent, a softened version of Dad's, wafted into the dining room.
Abe dragged himself into the kitchen and found his mother. She kissed him on the forehead and dug something out of her apron pocket. "I want you to walk the rent over to the landlord next door, Abe." She placed the cash into his unwilling hand. "Your father or I usually pay the rent, but he's late from work and I can't leave the roast." She looked at Abe when he failed to respond. The shocked look on his face told her everything but she ignored it. "Go on, Abe. They're expecting you."
He couldn't believe it. 'I'm getting teased every day by everybody - grrrrr - and still we're gonna pay the dumb landlord? I say AFTER he's repaired the damage he's done to the house!'
Abe stomped up the stairs of the landlord's house and impatiently rang the doorbell. He was determined to convey some of his annoyance to them in any manner possible. The landlord's son, Willie, answered the door. 'I can take him.' Abe thought. 'Well, maybe not.'
"My mom sent me to pay the rent." He held up his fist to Willie's face with the wad of cash in it.
"Sure, c'mon in." Willie opened the door and Abe stepped inside. He looked down to make sure he had stepped inside because he'd heard nothing. When he realized that the carpet was so thick and plush that it rendered foot traffic noiseless, his anger simmered. He looked over at the fireplace and the family photos and bric-à-brac that adorned the mantel and his anger flared. 'They have a fireplace! And a mantle with pictures of their ugly family members!' It was all he could do to keep from wiping all those photos off the mantel onto the floor.
"Mom, the Morgans' little boy, Abe, is here to pay the rent."
Abe bristled at being called a little boy. He was 12, almost a man. He'd have to borrow Dad's razor soon. 'Little boy, hmphf!' And he was here to do the adult thing of paying the rent.
"Come right over here, honey." Willie's mom's voice brought him back to awareness of his task.
He placed the sourest expression on his face and marched the short distance into the dining room, intent upon flaunting his displeasure with the entire household. His anger was declawed when he gradually became aware that Willie's mom was spoon feeding her husband, the landlord. He was in some kind of very large high chair with a large cloth around the front of him like a - bib. A baby's bib. Was this why the repairs to their rented house were delayed? The landlord didn't even look like he focused on anything. In addition to not being able to even feed himself, was he - blind?
Abe looked at Willie's mom again and now noticed the pained expression on her face. He looked past her to Willie, who stood in the kitchen doorway and sorrowfully eyed his parents. Wilie shoved his hands into his jean pockets, turned away and walked with his head down back into the kitchen.
Abe managed to find his voice. "Here's the rent, ma'am." He held out the cash and she smiled and took it. "My mother said you'd give me a receipt?" There was a thickness in his throat and he swallowed several times. Tears welled up in his eyes but he fought them back. He remembered his parents' teaching: 'Don't show pity. People don't like to be pitied. Be kind, polite, tolerant, patient, and understanding.' Abe lowered his eyes. He hadn't been any of those things. He felt ashamed. And, oh, so sorry for the landlord and his family. Suddenly, he didn't care about the house damages or that his bedroom was basically unusable. Willie's temporary fix on the outside and Dad's on the inside had done nothing to keep the cold winds from invading his bedroom. But he no longer cared about that.
"Could you wait here, please, while I go get the receipt book?" Willie's mother smiled at him expectantly.
Abe nodded his head up and down vigorously. He watched her as she left the dining room and disappeared into the kitchen. He became painfully aware that he was now alone with the landlord. Abe swallowed several times more and just as he thought he was going to burst into tears, Willie's mom returned to the dining room table and quickly wrote out a receipt. She smiled as she handed it to him. "Here you are, young man. Please thank your parents for me?"
Abe took the receipt, folded it and shoved it into his shirt pocket. "Yes, ma'am, thank you, ma'am."
"Willie! Willie! Our young visitor is leaving. Please come show him out."
Abe protested, but she insisted that Willie follow proper etiquette and walk their visitor to the door. 'Hmmm...proper etiquette...just like at home.' Well, he had shamefully abandoned his when he first entered their home. Now he was anxious to display it as he left.
Once back home, he gave the receipt to his mother. She searched his face for a new awareness and found it. She and Henry had tried for nearly two weeks to explain to their son that he had to be patient with the landlord. That the repairs would be made as soon as possible. Finally, they had decided that if Abe took the rent over, he would see the landlord's sad predicament himself and, hopefully, understand. Abigail could tell that it had worked because of the changed look on her young son's face and in his behaviour. They knew it would it be painful for him, but sometimes experience is the best teacher. She touched Abe's cheek and smiled at him.
"Dinner is ready. Better go wash up. Your father will be here any minute, now."
Abe looked up at his mother. "Thanks, Mom."
"For what, dear?"
"For being you." He smiled and turned to go wash up for dinner.
More than 60 years later, Abe stands in his antique shop and studies his mother's two photos (one of her young, the other of her in her later years). He smiles at the memory of that lesson he learned decades ago and lovingly brushes his fingers over the faces of the photos. "Thanks, Mom."